


A Tale of Two Ravens

by kamikaze43v3r



Category: Original Work
Genre: Action/Adventure, Fantasy, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Mythology References, Old Norse, Pagan Gods, Plot, References to Norse Religion & Lore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25892107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kamikaze43v3r/pseuds/kamikaze43v3r
Summary: A reimagination of the classic Old Norse tale of Ragnarok.(currently in the process of rewriting this, if you're interested, there's an old version of this story,Gloaming of the Gods)
Kudos: 4





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just rewriting my original story for funsies. This will take forever, from the plot content to how I'd probably never update this consistently... and might even keep rewriting this over and over. It's hard.

A set of sharpened teeth sinks into flesh. 

Pulls and chews. 

Consumes.

Blood is smeared across the floor of a seemingly innocent home, the dark red liquid pooled below mangled bodies the creature is feasting on. Behind it, more bodies are scattered, some half-ravaged, others untouched, but all are dead. They were the residents of a now decimated village, massacred by one lone being.

The creature itself is skeletal and its form just barely corporeal, as if it is solidified smoke. By just appearances, it looks like a thin, weak skeleton, with no muscle or strength. It doesn’t have any domineering features besides its grey, stone-like texture and small horns atop its skull. In its empty eye sockets are two dim white lights in place of eyeballs. But it is through the radiance of those lights that reflects the power of these creatures.

Despite its non-existent stomach, the Drauma continues to consume flesh. It sinks its teeth into the meat and chews automatically, neither savouring or rushing, eating as if it is a mere task. 

The Drauma do not need to feast on physical flesh, but it is a sought after delicacy amongst them. These Drauma do not have taste buds, so they find no pleasure in eating physically, but being able to consume something tangible is both a rarity and brings one power. After all, a Drauma needs to be able to cross over to the living realm in order to acquire physical bodies in the first place, so only the powerful or fortunate are able to do so.

The Drauma exist as they are in their realm, Spegillheim, with a thin but powerful veil that separates their dimension from Firarheim, the living realm. The veil only allows wisps of the intangible to flow through, which means diluted streams of magic, lost souls and energy are able to pass through. These are what the Drauma generally feast on. Like their creators, they sustain themselves on such energy, especially on negative emotions, of those of the living. The more they consume, the stronger they get. The more powerful they are, they may be able to slip through the veil and cross over to the realm of the living where their energy source comes from.

If the Drauma can merely exist by absorbing what little energy that seeps through to their realm, what advantages can they get if they feast on the very source itself?

Obviously, the power they gain is immense. A concentrated source of negative emotions that powers them. Causing harm and eliciting fear magnifies that effect, and physically consuming the masses of blood, magic and energy would amplify the same by tenfold.

And this Drauma has managed that. It struck gold and was able to slip through the veil, finding itself in a small and relatively newly-formed village. Small, secluded, and weak. Easy prey for the creature.

In this night, it consumes the small population of the village and feels a burst of power. It is a pity there weren’t any villagers with a stronger affinity to magic as mages are the best source of power for the Drauma.

Even so, it is not a big loss for the creature. With so much power running through its body now, the Drauma is near dizzy with high energy. Its magical aura has become so dense that the area around the creature is affected, whatever within its radius creaking under the pressure. Magical energy gathers and clashes, crackling into sparks of fire and electricity.

In the current living realm’s standards, this Drauma would be equal to the strength of a battalion of its finest mages and warriors. Furthermore, the Drauma are a naturally stronger existence compared to the living. With a higher capacity and control for magic, and the ability for its body to become incorporeal at will, which allows them to nullify physical attacks, they are a tricky opponent for normal mortals.

Oh, how it yearns to decimate more of the living and continue this cycle of gaining more power. More fear, more food, more prey, more power. With how weak the living are, the Drauma wonders how has the living realm survived? Its predecessors must have been foolish, it should be so easy to crush these ants...

“What’s this? A stray?”

A young woman’s voice interrupts the Drauma’s thoughts. Its hackles raised, the creature snarls as it whips around.

A raven is perched atop the open window, a black silhouette backlit by the full moon’s light. The bird tilts its head to the side but its bright, beady eyes studies the Drauma with clinical observation.

“A shifter?” the Drauma drawls out, speaking in its own tongue. Its voice is gravelly and distorted and the sound of its language is odd and disjointed. It is certainly a strange, almost frightening tone compared to the speech of mortals.

The raven does not answer. Another raven swoops down to perch on the window sill beside the other. Both birds stare at the Drauma, unbothered by the rising magical energy the creature is manipulating around its surroundings.

_ This is strange _ , the Drauma thinks. A normal living being would have been crushed or at the very least suppressed by its magical pressure. Yet, these two birds act as if they are unaffected. Even if shapeshifters are stronger than the normal person, they are still existences beneath the Drauma.

“No… these two… are different…”

“Yes, we are different.”

The same young woman replies, but it doesn’t seem to be coming from either of the birds. But more disturbingly, the woman had replied in the language of Spegillheim. Only the Drauma or those of a higher being would know the language. Living mortals do not have the physical capability or understanding of their speech. So how does this female…?

The woman laughs, a sharp sound that is both mocking and condescending. “Look how confused it is, brother. I can never get tired of it.”

The ‘brother’ doesn’t reply, but the two ravens at the window continue to stare at the Drauma with mild interest. Incensed by the mockery, the creature flings out a blast of magic, crushing anything within its sight. As a result, the wall with the window collapses, and the house they are in begins to crumble.

Debris and clouds of dust from the crushed bricks obscure the surroundings, but the Drauma can see through it easily. Yet, it is unable to detect the two ravens.

_ Strange… they’re too strange… _

A sliver of unknown emotion runs through the Drauma’s core. It doesn’t recognise this unsettling feeling. It’s something it’s never felt before.

Drauma are the apex of their own realm. Everything in Spegillheim exists to be dominated by them. Magic, energy, souls. The realm is barren except for these, just to supply the Drauma with power. The living from Firarheim are born inferior to the Drauma, so why… why does it feel so unsettled right now? It should be the most powerful creature in the realm!

“Look, the Drauma’s scared.”

_ Scared? _ The Drauma is shocked. Is this what this unpleasant emotion is? The Drauma has been feeding on this very emotion from the living, yet it has no experience of the feeling itself. So this is what it feels like…? No, that’s nonsense. The Drauma are powerful creatures. Fear does not exist within them!

The creature roars as it lets out a blast of magical energy. A large number of fireballs materialises in the air around the Drauma. Even if it can’t see its opponents, they won’t be able to evade a powerful blast.

The Drauma sets off the fireballs, the light of their flames radiating into the brightness of miniature suns as they immolate the entire village and the neighbouring area. Trees, walls, buildings, and even the air is scorched. Once the fire clears, there is only melted ruins, crystallised soil and the Drauma left at the center of the explosion's crater. Nothing alive should survive Drauma’s wrath. With its superior senses and detection magic, it perceives no life forms nearby.

“Ha… just ants…” the Drauma murmurs to itself, relief seeping in. Those ravens were just strange, but not strong. It must have just been overly cautious towards unknown beings like them.

The Drauma assures itself and thinks about its next meal. After using so much of its magic at one go, quite a bit of its energy supply has been drained. Maybe it’ll look for another village, or even a town. No matter the number of mortals, they’re all weak like ants anyway, so there should be no problem.

_ Crack _ .

“What…?” Just as it takes a step forward, the Drauma hears the sound of something breaking.

_ Crack. Crackle. _

The strange crumbling rings loud in its head. What is that noise?

The Drauma looks down at its skeletal fingers that are feeling unusually light. Pieces of its hands are crumbling away. Then it realises that its own skull is cracked and falling apart. 

“How dare you,” the woman’s voice from before returns, this time, spoken right by its ears. The Drauma freezes, fear taking hold of its body, so much so that it feels its bones rattling. Her voice is cold, malice laced in her tone. “How dare you, a mere skeleton like you who lost its way and stumbled into this realm throwing its weight around. You’re nothing but brittle bones.”

Pressure. A heavy, oppressive pressure fills the air. It’s a magical energy that the Drauma has never felt before. Even the higher ranked Drauma in Spegillheim feel less oppressive than this, but it is not a power that is holy or light based. No… there’s a hint of something familiar, like a trace that feels so similar to those whom they call their -

Fear, pain and confusion interrupts its thoughts. An agony that feels like its very being is lit on fire and on the verge of exploding from within. More cracks appear on its skeletal body, spreading quickly through its form like spiderwebs.

“No-! Nooo!!” the Drauma screeches and thrashes, yet it cannot move, paralyzed by the unseen enemy. It feels like it’s dying, its flame dimming as if being extinguished by a giant, heavy blanket enveloping a small candle. No matter how much it tries to expand and fight back with its own power, something else restrains it. The Drauma is powerless, faced with its own weakness despite its belief that it was the strongest existence in the realm of the living.

An unkindness of ravens flutter into its sights, flying overhead and watching down at its dying form. It hears the low cry of one of the birds before it is left with nothing but silence.

The Drauma disappeared in strange dark light that exploded in a controlled, spherical shape. The light is an explosion no smaller than the one the Drauma had summoned before, but where that explosion brought scorching heat, this light brought a strange, heavy and suffocating coldness that seems to suck life and breath from everything around it, like a black hole.

The dark light then contracts into nothingness as quickly as it had expanded, leaving no trace of the Drauma.

Only the cries of the ravens overhead fill the dead air.

\-----

Two figures clad in hooded dark clothes observe the pitiful creature quietly as the light disappears. Under the hood, dark red hair further obscures a sharp-featured face with tanned skin and green eyes. Their gazes hold neither sympathy or regret. Just apathy, as if they witnessed something that has happened as it should. 

It was truly a weak being with an inflated ego. It is not uncommon for Drauma to go on a power trip upon having its first taste of physical flesh.

It was unfortunate that the village was lost to the Drauma, but such things happen and can go undetected. One of their ravens had noticed the stray Drauma early, but by the time they arrived at the village, they were already too late. But even if they barely expressed regret, it is not as if both of them would go out of their way to save the lives of others.

It was only because there was an anomaly with the Drauma that attracted their attention. 

Such a low level Drauma shouldn’t be able to slip through the divider that keeps the realms separate. Their ravenkin have reported similar events of low-levelled Drauma straying into Firarheim, but they came here especially because the crack in which the creature slipped through is still open. It is perhaps by the grace of the gods that nothing more powerful had forced its way through this gap. If a Knight or even Queen ranked Drauma were to come through, it would be a possible disaster that may bring back strife to Firarheim.

While the two are usually uninterested in the happenings of the world, this event is still suspicious. The beings of Spegillheim would fight for any small chance to slip into the living world, and such openings, no matter how small, would be easily detected by those in their realm. Yet, only this single Drauma came through. Why did no other appear? And why specifically here, exactly upon a secluded, unguarded village?

It feels deliberate, but there appears to be no answers.

The two figures look at each other.

“This feels foreboding,” the slightly shorter one says in the voice of the young woman that spooked the Drauma. “Do you think he will come to investigate this, brother?”

The other figure turns to stare at the gap in the veil. While both of them may be far more powerful than the average person in this realm, they have no knowledge of closing the gap. Only the gods would have the ability.

“Perhaps,” the ‘brother’ replies. They can only observe for now.


	2. Chapter 2

They say that when the god sent his wrath upon the realm more than fifty years ago, he wiped out a portion of the Solveig continent and erased an entire kingdom. From then on, many legends and stories arose after that calamity.

A giant of ash that strode into battlefields, believed to be the personification of the god’s wrath.

A pack of wolves may be sighted with the giant, with fur as dark as the night.

Similarly, strange ravens act as an omen of the giant’s arrival, acting as his eyes to watch all.

While the stories of the giant have faded into legend, some other aspects of him remain.

Ravens are still viewed as an omen of danger and death, while others see them as intelligent creatures, watchers that report to a higher being. It is said that there were a particular pair of ravens that served the giant. Those ravens were elevated to a deity status along with the giant. 

Some shrines were erected by believers of their stories. Stone pedestals with small stone statues carved into a pair of ravens. A carved stone dish is always placed before them for offerings.

Offerings often come in the form of food like nuts, fruit, and even dried meat. Others give up their prized belongings, money or even precious stones. Though there are no caretakers for these shrines, none dare to steal said offerings; ravens can always be seen perched nearby, almost as if guarding.

Those who do dare to steal the offerings were pecked to death by ravens or face deadly misfortune later, though these accounts may be exaggerated or made up to scare potential thieves. Even so, these ravens continue to be both revered and feared.

However, there is a side to the raven shrines that few know about.

Indeed, ravens can be seen as harbingers of death and misfortune. They feast and scavenge on the dead, use others to do their bidding or play tricks on them for leisure. They are intelligent, but can also be cruel.

Instead of offerings, one can also request death upon others by acquiring a raven feather and presenting it to the shrine. Supposedly, if the deities receive and acknowledge the feather, a pair of strangers would appear before the requestor and ask for a reason.

Whether one’s wish would be granted or not, it appears to be up to the ravens themselves. They may bring death to the poorest of beggars, or the highest ranking noble - what fits their criteria is unknown, but aside from those in the position that may affect the current stability in the realm, anyone may be victim to the ravens’ curse. 

But of course, whether all this is true, is up to the one who hears it...

\-----

A raven flaps its sable wings as it settles on a young man’s arm. It squawks before lowering its head like a docile puppy to the man, who pets its head with fondness.

“Good work,” the man says and the bird responds with a pleased croak. It flies off to join its numerous kin in the branches of the trees above. 

Huginn is tall and lean, with dusky tanned skin. His sharp features are rather prominent in that he is handsome, but also slightly effeminate, with dark red hair tied in a loose braid, and a parted fringe that obscures one of his green eyes. He joins a young woman who bears an uncannily similar resemblance to him, from the face to the body build.

His younger twin, Muninn.

Perhaps, the only major difference between them is their facial expressions.

“Brother,” the young woman smiles cheerily up at her twin, whose face remains impassive. “What news did Hitam bring?”

“Another Drauma,” the man replies, kneeling down to pick out one of the many books that lay scattered around them. The book he picks out is a collection of records; he remembers they’d made a copy of it instead of swiping the original from the Imperial Library’s archives. He flips through the book, eyes scanning through the words that flitter by with each page.

He settles on one. The open book he turns to is of a recorded event involving the Eldian Empire’s Imperial Heiress. It is well-known that the princess was adopted by the Empress, and she grew up ordinary aside from her extraordinary looks. When she came to the age of nine, the Heiress fell ill and the Empress brought in physicians and magical healers to check on her.

They found out then that she had the potential to become a powerful mage, only that the power she possesses is unprecedented, breaking even the measuring tools used to gauge one’s magical ability.

The Palace kept it a secret, but still recorded it as such an event is historic; who wouldn’t record the finding of possibly the Empire’s future Empress being the most powerful mage? Furthermore, letting such a thing be known publicly would only bring unwanted attention.

However, they wouldn’t be able to hide the truth completely. After all, there are other beings that would be attracted to such power. No matter how strong the mages of the Empire are, and what tools they use to hide the Heiress’ magic, they cannot surpass the skills of a Drauma.

“A Drauma intruded the Palace, targeting the Heiress.”

“Oh, the Shining Star of the Empire? I wonder why only now?”

Huginn hums as if in thought, but his expression barely changes. Muninn whistles to the one of the ravens perched atop the branches, and one of them, smaller than the one they called Hitam earlier, flies down to her. She feeds the corvid a treat and coos to it playfully. The raven chirrups back in response.

“There are no such things as coincidences, especially not for something like this,” her brother replies. “Not when the Drauma’s presence set something off.”

“What’s that?” Muninn asks as she gently scratches under the raven’s chin.

“A pillar of light engulfed the Imperial Palace that night. It lasted for a few seconds, but the light illuminated the capital city as if it was daytime.”

“That-!” Her eyes snap to her brother in disbelief, voice stuck as if unsure on what to say. Muninn’s usual smile distorts into a frown.

“The Imperial Heiress… possesses a power that may be beyond this world. No matter how strong a mage she is, that kind of light is not something a normal mortal would be able to produce,” Huginn surmises.

“Could she be… like us?” Muninn looks at her brother expectantly. Huginn’s gaze softens when he meets his sister’s.

“...Maybe, but we must find out more first.”

Muninn blinks and pulls away, schooling her expression as she turns back to the raven in her arms. “Yes, of course. We need more information. Could you help us with that, Malam?”

The raven in her hold seemingly nods and flaps its wings earnestly. She holds the raven up and it ascends to the sky. Both Huginn and Muninn watch as the raven flies off, the mostly clear sky behind it darkening as dusk approaches.

The moon hangs above, barely hidden behind the clouds and crescent-shaped like a smile.

The siblings stare at the celestial body in silence. As always, the Watching Eye looks upon them, filling the twins with a sense of nostalgia of a long lost memory. One that they’ve been searching the world for answers, along with the disappearance of their father, the origin of their powers and the vague recollections of a familiar person.

Perhaps it is time to visit one of their contacts.


	3. Beginning

An owl flies overhead, its shadow cast as it flutters through the trees. The twins huddle together and press up against the female wolf who took them into her pack. The other wolves lay close around them in the dark den dimly lit by the moonlight.

Not far, they see their Father seated by a bonfire as he sharpens his greataxe with a whetstone.

Muninn hums an improvised melody while they both watch the large man’s silhouette. Huginn holds her hand comfortingly.

Nights like these are not uncommon. They get comfort from their pack mates of wolves and ravens than the man who picked them up and they call Father. Though it is more out of respect than familial connection.

He is a distant and aloof man. Though he once showed a glimpse of warmth and familiarity towards them, that look soon disappeared as he brought them along and taught them the ways of survival. He summoned the beasts to be their caretakers instead and showed them no love, only sent them forth to his bidding, as scouts and informants.

Their Father looks like a sage, with a pointed hat atop his greyed hair, yellowed bone beads weaved in his beard braids, and his large towering frame is covered by a frayed old cloak. His lone eye is of a golden hue with reddish specks that glow bright and smolder like embers. The other is missing from its socket, leaving only a dark, gaping hole barely hidden by the fringe of his hair.

But the greataxe he owns mostly stay hidden under his clothing, and is wielded expertly as if he was a mythical warrior. The patterns on the axe’s grip look too intricate and its material too extravagant for anything of this world. Yet, the twins never dare to ask Father anything about his origins.

He is, after all, deemed by the humans as the Ashened Giant, the Wrathful War God.

Each step he takes quakes the earth. A simple gaze of his remaining eye makes those of weak wills flee like startled rats. One swing of his axe banishes hundreds of the demons they call Drauma. The twins know their Father is not of this realm. They’ve seen his powers, his strength, and the bearing he has that is even more majestic than those of royalty. A man entirely shrouded in mystery, yet holds much wisdom and experience. They don’t know much about the man, but one thing is for sure: he is seeking something,  _ someone _ and there is simmering anger within that is barely masked by his stoic expression. 

Whatever he is searching for, the twins don’t know. But they’ve received the blessings of the Giant; the eye from the empty socket he gouged out himself, split between the two children for the ones they had lost. He is the one who gave them their new names. Some of his blood flows through their veins, and so does his will.

They are bound to their Father, and would aid him in his goal.

For almost two decades they stayed by the Giant’s side as his familiars and his shadow. They are his ears, his eyes, his thoughts and his mind. Though they may not be a true family, they are all connected.

Until one day, the Giant disappeared without a trace.

Huginn and Muninn were left alone by themselves again. But now, they are no longer the helpless children that their Father found. He has bestowed them with his teachings, his blessings of strength and knowledge. 

The world is vast, but so is the span of their wings. Whatever happened to their Father, they must find out.

And so, this is the beginning of their story.


End file.
